Chapter 13

The black skies and drab mounds of Planet Pluto were spotted with color. From where he stood on Drummer’s enclosed patio, Brad looked through the transparent shields at ice-gray Charon low over scarred ridges to the west. Shifting his eyes slightly brought into focus the panorama of Coldfield’s dome and its multi-colored lights. The orange-green cylinder of the Slingshot Logistics Depot gleamed in the black sky.

The Fandango force field around the depot shimmered. A wide gap separated the transports loading and unloading at the portals inside the force field from those outside waiting in line or in clustered formations until moorings inside became available.

The short taxi ride from Coldfield had been uneventful. The formalities of introductions behind them, the host and his guests had refreshed themselves, dined and rested.

Drummer joined Brad and followed his gaze to the orange-green cylinder and its gaggle of transports and tugs. The silence was brief.

Drummer said, “I’ve had your ship searched.”

Brad shrugged, eyes scanning the scene outside, and replied dryly, “Hope it was worth your while. To us, it was transportation. Any old tub would have done. As it turned out, we were lucky.”

“I’ll accept that it’s an ‘old tub’. I gathered as much from the reports I received,” Drummer said, “but I understand the primary systems are in good condition, considering the vessel’s history and the spunnel shocks the ship must have experienced on the way. How does it all fit together?”

“How does it concern you?” Brad turned to face Drummer.

“Come, now.” Drummer shook his head impatiently. “Let’s not act naive; it doesn’t go with the rest of you. But,” he added waving his finger at Brad as he turned away, “just so you don’t make a habit of responding to my questions with diversions, be aware that I am a member of President Narval’s Council of Advisors. Despite the incident with Scarf, I have considerable authority and resources at my command.

“I’ve checked through my confidential sources in the Inner Region,” he went on, “and confirmed you are all convicted criminals that escaped from a Guardian Station prison. Now, for starters, how did you manage to get a lift by spunnel and make it this far without tearing that old wreck apart? Those vessels don’t have navigational gear for trips to the rim, nor do they carry the required gear and supplies. Straight answer.”

“We’re spacers,” Brad said. “One of us is an experienced maintenance engineer. Another is a space navigator. We’ve all knocked about the space-ways a bit on assorted jobs. I was Captain of a freighter before the Space Guard and the Transport Board took my ship away from me on trumped up charges, and then sent me up for five years of rehab. We teamed up on the Guardian Station, worked out the details, kept our noses clean and our eyes open, and, when the chance came, grabbed it. We did have a few breakdowns, but we kept her moving along until we could attach the ship to a convoy through the spunnel. We took our chances and made it.”